I am never able to fall asleep on Full Mooned Nights.
Such moon phases coat nights with energy, not of chivalrous, kind peace but his opposite;
Not of the sturdy, chiselled arms of rest but his opposite;
Not of anything of the mundane, tangible realm but his opposite.
It is a time of learning lessons that can only be remembered on such types of nights.
You hear clangings of windchimes you never knew were hung.
You learn that wind does not need trees to be heard, it creates its own tunnels, its own stitches and weaves, its own theatre and orchestral piece.
You realise another fragment of your shadow whilst travelling the spirals of your swirly thoughts.
You sense coldness no longer to be an enemy but a shield, a paternal blanket of protection, paralysing you from rebelling from the safety of ones bed.
God forbid you take a stroll on a Full Mooned Night!
You desire freshness! It is time to discover new artists, plan new conquests, design new Self.
Only to forget it all the following morning.
You turn, toss, travel, try
Awaken, renew, some parts of you in the process may die.
It is a ritual of such nights, such turmoil-ridden, chaos-loving, restless and reckless nights.
You abide by such customs, a humble, inexperienced disciple
And let yourself be eaten, be consumed, be devoured,
Piece by
Piece by,
Piece by,
an unforgiving Moon
Only to be thrown up,
Like an Ouroubourus, like a dog eating its own vomit
Reassembled (with cosmic humour),
Like Frankenstein’s curse-d monster, like Ikea furniture without a manual,
and left to set.
Like Commandments scribed into hardening stone, like a delicate souffle.
And then the utmost unnatural sight takes place!
The Moon makes her graceful exit and the Sun takes her tired place
And the beams that usually usher you to slumber become the beams that have stolen you sleep
And the rays that rustle you from sleep have now become the warms hands that soothe you to slumber,
And congratulate you!
For surviving another Full Mooned Night.
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